


What if: Peter had been injured in the ferry scene

by Wolf5bane



Series: Spider-Man: Homecoming// What-if's, Alternate Scenes, and more [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Expansion of ferry scene, Fainting, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Spider-Man: Homecoming Spoilers, Whump, crossposted on wattpad, mild injury description, spiderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25221187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf5bane/pseuds/Wolf5bane
Summary: Part one of my what-if's, alternate scenes in Homecoming series.----What if, during the ferry scene in Spider-Man: Homecoming, Peter had been injured during the ferry scene? How would have Tony reacted?---As with all parts of my series, it is crossposted under the same name on Wattpad.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Adrian Toomes, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Spider-Man: Homecoming// What-if's, Alternate Scenes, and more [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827238
Comments: 35
Kudos: 229





	1. Chapter 1

“You’re messing with things you don’t understand.”

Toomes’ voice held a note of confidence, which Peter couldn’t quite place. He shot web after web onto the electrical device he’d taken from the Vulture. It seemed, at first, to be stable, with only sparks of electricity sputtering free. However, the device bore an energy that no hero could control. It growled menacingly, tearing at webs, and biting through them with thick bursts of blue electricity. Soon, the lasers had managed to destroy all of his hard work, and once again, the weapon began to throw itself about the deck of the ship. Peter raised his hand to try and contain it again but ended up ducking to avoid being cleaved in two by its power.

He didn’t entirely escape its onslaught. Hissing through his teeth, he briefly noted the gash in his side, which had managed to tear through his suit, leaving frayed fabric and wires in its midst. Peter hurriedly shot a web at it, which served as a temporary seal to the wound.

There wasn’t much time to focus on the blood blossoming on his side, not with the ferry now ripped in two. People screamed around him, and their fear drove him to act. Adrenaline pumping through his system, he quickly found a solution through Karen and got to work.

The x-ray feature in his suit easily gave the points of most vulnerability. A fuzziness had begun to linger in his head, making it feel as if his brain were stuffed with mothballs, dampening his usually quick wit and intelligence. He shook his head, attempting to focus solely on the points and what web configurations to use, throwing a web grenade here, and a splitter web there.

By the time he reached the opposite side of the ferry, he was grateful to take a break, perching on the jagged edge of the roof. He was almost proud to look over the fine strands of webbing, every piece so delicate, and yet, when working in perfect harmony with physics and engineering, held the two massive halves of the ferry in place.

People began to clap, cheering his name. He let out a sigh of relief, adrenaline beginning to waver.

_‘Great job, Peter.’_ Karen spoke in his ear. _‘You were 98 percent successful.’_

His face fell. No, no, no—he’d fought the Avengers, he’d taken Captain America’s shield, he had to impress Tony—he could do this.

“Where—”

There was no time to ask. Just as his suit spotted the one point of vulnerability, each strand of precious webbing began to snap, one by one, crashing down like dominos. The people on the ferry ceased to cheer, hearing the metallic groans of the ship as it caved under the pressure. Then, all at once, the remaining webs gave way, and water began to flood into the two sides of the ship at an alarming rate.

He groaned. He knew what he had to do.

Peter jumped into the air, shooting webs towards one half of the ship with one hand. Swinging lowly on it, he shot another web towards the over half. They balanced out and he stilled, hanging in the middle. There were times like these where he felt so small as a hero. It seemed a literal smallness, this time, with his small frame in between the two huge halves of the ferry.

However, he was anything but small. Peter pulled with each hand, grasping the two strands of webbing, and tugged them inwards. There was a creak as the ferry began to pull together, although not fast enough to stop the incoming damage.

That didn’t stop Peter, however. Nor did the flare of pain in his side, as the force of trying to pull the ship together decimated the bandage of webbing on his side. However, with the red of the suit, you would have to look closely to see the blood dripping down his side and look beneath the mask to spot the lines of tension on his face.

(Another reason he had the mask.)

Luckily, he wasn’t alone. It was only moments later that Iron Man showed up on the scene, using his tech and skills to push the ferry back into one. Peter felt the burden decrease, quickly enough for him to let go of his webbing and swing back onto the roof. He made quick work of replacing the webbing, although was more distracted by the appearance of his hero.

“Hi, Spider-Man. Band practice, was it?”

He closed his eyes briefly, suddenly feeling small. Not the ‘new hero in a world of big-time criminals’ small, but the ‘Peter Parker being scolded by his mentor while bleeding out from a wound’ small.

The people on the ferry began to cheer for Iron Man instead. Despite the damage and nagging want in his mind to lie down and rest, he swung up, following Iron Man as he used his suit to weld the ferry back together.

“Hey, Mr Stark- uh, hey— Could I do anything?” The desperation was evident in his voice, the same tone conveyed through his frantic texts to Happy, a want to escape the doldrum of life and be one of the heroes he’d watched on TV as a young child. “What do you want me to do?”

He sat atop the mast, the highest perch of the ferry, looking up at Iron Man, the lenses of his mask wide.

Iron Man only paid him a cursory glance. Even in the slit eyes of his suit, glowing a sharp blue, they seemed to hold enough emotion to cause Peter to look away.

“I think you’ve done enough.”

\-----

It wasn’t that Tony didn’t care; it was on the contrary. Watching his young ward dive headfirst into something bigger than he was, something he was unprepared for, had him worried in a way he’d never been before.

Of course, Tony Stark wasn’t known for his tact, and thus, he only appeared angry.

“Previously, on Peter screws the pooch…” he began, as he flew down in his suit to the roof where he saw Peter sitting. He noted his tense shoulders and lack of mask, although made no comment on it, too busy trying to handle his own rush of feelings.

  
“Is everyone okay?”

He almost rolled his eyes at Peter’s words. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he felt a spark of pride at the boy’s selfless worry. However, it frustrated him that the boy didn’t extend that same courtesy to himself.

“No thanks to you.”

He stood still and resolute as the boy advanced towards him, taking in the teen’s words of anger. His eyes did glance briefly to the bloody mess of webbing on his suit, and he opened his mouth to comment on it. However, Peter’s challenge stopped him.

“If you cared, you’d actually be here.”

At once, Tony stepped out of the suit. He might have found some humour in the boy’s wide eyes, but this wasn’t so; his mind was clouded with concern and his hammering heart drove him forwards, stepping towards the boy, who backed away.

“If you died, I feel like that’s on me.”

He took a breath. The boy’s apologies just didn’t seem to cut it. In fact, the desperate pleading and sorrowful expression on his face only solidified his hastily made decision.

“I’m gonna need the suit back.”

What came next, he wasn’t expecting. Perhaps, more apologies, some weak excuse or beg for a second chance. Instead, he heard Peter’s dry laugh, eyes darting downwards.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think you do.”

Tony blinked.

“Is this another play of teenage rebellion? Because I can tell you—”

“No, I mean. It’s, well, broken.”

“What?” Tony deadpanned.

“S’got a hole. In it.” He paused. “And me.” Peter laughed, and then, his face went pale.

Tony looked back, seeing the webbing hanging from the boy’s side and the dark stain spreading over his suit. He felt a terrible twist of guilt in his heart (god, he was too much like his father- he should have noticed, not ranted at the boy).

“Kid!” he exclaimed; any hint of anger gone from his tone. He caught Peter as he fell, however. He always did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By popular request, here is a continuation of this what-if. This chapter contains some of Peter's recovery from the injury, and mainly, the recovery of the wounded relationship between Peter and Tony. I hope this is okay! It really got away from me XD I know it's big angst, I be like that. Hope you enjoy.

If you had told Tony that his day was going to end with him bringing a bleeding-out Spider-Man to the Tower’s med bay, he would have thought you were mad.

He felt disconnected from reality as he stood outside the door leading to the operating theatre, looking down at the red mask held tightly in his hands. The lenses stared blankly up at him; wide and accusing, with specks of blood flecked over the smooth white surface. He brushed his metal thumb over the lens to try and clean off the blood. It did nothing. Ineffectual.

Tony clunkily sat down on a chair outside the room, not bothering to take off his suit. It encased him, as if, were he to step out of the suit, he would become as small and vulnerable as he felt.

He blinked. Where did he go wrong? He’d stopped producing weapons, he’d taken on the kid under a mentoring role (albeit, with little mentoring, and more phone calls than face-to-face meetings). And yet, he’d stood there today and berated Peter, failing to notice the gaping hole in his side.

He rose from the seat again, forgoing sitting and instead pacing down the hallway, metal boots clanking against the linoleum floors. _Clunk. Clunk. Clunk_. He lost himself in the repetition of the sound, walking around and around and around, wearing a hole in the floor.

His thoughts gathered as he paced. Tony realised how wrong he’d been. He might have been the one to listen to the kid and send in the FBI—but Peter was right. He hadn’t listened, not entirely. If he’d listened, truly been there for the boy, then he would have told him about those plans. He should have trusted him. Hadn’t fishing him out of that cold lake the Vulture had dropped him into been enough of a scare?

His thoughts stilled as he took in the doctor standing outside of the door, clipboard in hand. Tony forced his eyes away from the bloodied scrubs, and up to their eyes.

“He lost a lot of blood—” the doctor told him, and Tony’s heart leapt into his throat, “—but he’s stable.”

He took in a deep sigh of relief. Inching backwards, he found room to step out of his suit. The casing fell away, and, whilst he felt bare, he felt strangely safe. This was what he was meant to do. Not watch the kid destroy himself in an effort to become an Avenger. He was the one who needed to be better, and he would.

\----

When Peter woke up, it seemed at first that he was his normal self. At least, what Tony remembered from Germany and the times he’d heard the kid’s voicemails, excitedly rambling about crime-fighting and churros.

That was, until Tony mentioned the elephant in the room.

“Kid. I, uh, I don’t say this a lot. But, I’m sorry. About the ferry. I was too… harsh.”

“It’s fine.” Peter responded immediately, eyes straying away, suddenly becoming interested in the wires of the IV stuck in his arm. “I was just being a dumb kid.”

“It’s not, and you’re not. Maybe you were a little out of your depth… But you were trying your best.”

Peter didn’t reply. Tony’s words were comforting now, however, he could still remember what he’d said earlier. Maybe, it was true. Those people on the ferry could have died because of him. His reliance on the suit (on Tony) was too great.

Tony stared at him, obviously out of depth himself with this conversation.

“Look, kid. I’ll put it plainly: I’m proud of you. That incident with the ferry… wasn’t your best work, no.” He shrugged. “But we all have missions like that. That’s why—” he hesitated, unsure of whether to mention the Team, not wanting to get Peter involved in something so dangerous after what had just happened, “—there’s other heroes. I’m here. Sometimes the other Avengers might swing by. Maybe, we could even see this as a learning experience.”

Peter gave him a pointed look, gesturing to the mass of bandaging over his side. Tony rolled his eyes at the sass evident in that simple gesture.

“Okay, okay- not _this_ specifically. If you do this again, god knows how many grey hairs I’ll get. Now, I might make a handsome silver fox, but that’s besides the point.” Peter snorted. “Made you laugh. So… I think, what we need, is, trust.”

The boy looked down, fumbling with the edges of the thin blanket draped over him. “Trust?” he echoed, mind flipping back to the lies he told the man, about being at ‘band practice’, how he had Ned help him hack the million-dollar suit and how he removed the tracker. He gulped audibly, clenching his fists.

“Trust.” Tony repeated. “It goes both ways. Trust for us to… to,” he gestured wildly, trying to find the right words, “to work together. Maybe… make this mentoring thing a little more mentor-y. For you to trust me to help train you as a hero, to tell you before I bring the FBI into a mission. And, for me to trust you to tell me when you go on said mission.”

When Peter gave a short nod, he relaxed back into the plastic hospital chair.

“I know it’s not simple, Peter, but we can work on it.”

\----

It became obvious, later that night, how trust was tricky territory. Earned and not given, some said.

Peter trusted Tony as a hero. He trusted him as the man he looked to on TV to fight the bad guys, as the man he admired to do cool science and engineering.

He trusted May as a guardian, he could trust her to be there for him when life dragged him down, could trust her open arms and warm embrace to provide comfort.

He’d trusted his uncle Ben with that too.

When Tony Stark had entered his room in Germany, when the man seemed so eager to know him (he thought), it had seemed too good to be true. He’d seen the fragile opportunity for the man to come into his inner circle of trust. To fill the space left empty twice.

He didn’t know why. It’d felt right, at the time.

But then, with no number to contact, with Happy unresponsive to his texts and messages, and for the man to fill him with hope as he dragged him out of that lake, only for the metal mask to slide open and show an empty suit, he wasn’t sure, anymore. His cautious optimism had become more fragile with the vulnerability he’d felt on that rooftop, blood trickling down his side and the man not even noticing.

What Tony had said earlier had been appealing. Trust. He knew the man was good, and his initial impressions hadn’t wavered a fraction. He wanted to be closer to him, to be taken under his wing, to have another in his inner circle.

However, experience made him wary. What if Peter trusted him too much, told him too much, became too clingy, and drove him away? He couldn’t bear another few months of never hearing from the man, other than on occasions, from the tinny audio in his suit.

Maybe, he told himself, Mr Stark did want a trust- but not the deep sort of trust he shared with May. A business-like trust, one between colleagues saving the world.

So, when a familiar pain began to tug at his side in the late hours of the evening, despite assurances that he was on spider-kid painkillers, he simply bit his tongue, staring at the game in front of him.

It was chess, which Tony had popped out to get at some point when he’d been sleeping. The gesture of the man caring enough to get him something to do instead of stare at the ceiling had a warm feeling spark in his chest, one that was slightly hopeful.

He wouldn’t have focused on the worry about trust if his danged side hadn’t kept bothering him.

Just as he picked up his rook piece, in order to safely castle his king, the movement jolted his wound, and he groaned aloud.

“Jeez, kid, I know I suck at the game, but you don’t have to say it.” Tony joked, assuming he was groaning at his chess skills. When Peter didn’t reply, he furrowed his brows. “You alright, kiddo?”

Peter blinked. The question brought it back, and he bit his lip. Trust. He wanted Tony to trust him. However, he didn’t want to push that trust beyond their boundaries. Ugh. Thinking about it was making his head hurt. Maybe the super-kid drugs were making him loopy.

“Yes.”

And so, they played on. At some point, a nurse had brought in food. Peter didn’t look at it. He didn’t dare turn over, in fear of aggravating the thrumming pain in his side. He wished May were here.

“You gonna have that jello, or can I?” Tony asked. Peter didn’t think he actually wanted it. “You got to eat, kid. Get big and strong. Well, not to say that you aren’t already strong- I saw you bringing that ferry together.” Peter’s brow twitched. He picked up his knight, considering his move before placing it down.

“Check.” he murmured.

Tony’s brows creased in concentration. “You know,” he began, moving his king one square out of danger, “you do that thing, with your face. When you’re hurt. I noticed it before when I pulled you out of that lake.” Peter moved his bishop this time, placing his king in check once more. “And on the roof, earlier.” He moved his king again. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but you’re doing it now.”

Peter pushed his queen across the board, unthinkingly. “It’s my side. It’s, uh, it’s nothing. It’s just—”

Capturing Peter’s queen with his own queen, Tony looked at him over the board. “You have to tell me when you’re hurt, Peter. This is serious. Do you need more meds? Have they run out?” he paused, taking a breath. “Checkmate.” Tony added. “And—is that blood?”

The heart rate monitor beside the bed ratcheted up in pace, notes beeping noticeably faster. Something in him snapped. Tony cared, when to him, he shouldn’t—the fact the man noticed his hurt, when before, it never felt like he would even notice his presence. His hands trembled. He took a stuttering breath, before rising with more force than intended. The chess board toppled, pieces rolling over the bed. Seeing this somehow made it worse, and he shoved the board and all onto the floor with a loud clatter.

“That’s a sore way to lose, Pete.” Tony’s voice was small, as if the joke were automatic.

“It’s blood, it’s blood,” Peter brought his hand to his side, “because I’m alive, Tony. You, you—you sit there, you act like I’m some kid that you have to control, keep on a leash and stop me from running off and- and killing people. Because I’m not a hero—it’s like you said. Those people on the ferry, I could have killed them.” When Tony moved to interject, he raised his voice. “No, I could have killed them. I’m just some dumb kid who doesn’t know what they’re doing, who needs the Avengers to come out and clean up the messes I make everywhere and—and…” he made a mad gesture, hand grasping the wires in his arm so tight that they began to be crushed under the pressure.

“Peter, I don’t think of you like that.” In contrast, Tony’s voice was calm. “I was wrong to blame you. Those people were in danger because of the bad guys who decided to bring those illegal weapons onto a crowded ferry, not you. You’re hurt, kid, let me help you.”

Peter blinked up at him, eyes glossy and wide. “I still messed up. You—the, the suit.”

“What about it?”

“You took it away.”

Tony shook his head, reaching a hand out towards the boy, already having pressed the button to call a doctor. “I wasn’t thinking. I wanted you… well, I wanted you to be safe. I guess there’s no trust if I do that, though, huh?”

Hesitant at first, Peter took his hand. “So… I get to keep the suit?”

“As long as you don’t do that to the chessboard again.” He joked, glancing briefly to the pieces scattered across the floor. Somehow, with that comment, Peter squeezed his hand tighter. It felt right. If Tony trusted him with the suit, despite his worry, then maybe the man wouldn’t get fed up with him. The fact he worried at all—

The man reached across him, and Peter immediately brought his arms around him in a hug.

“I was just reaching for your IV-line, kid.”

“I know.” Peter said. They might not be there yet, but the fact that they could be, at some point, was enough for him. His eyes caught a glimpse of the red material of the spider-suit, folded neatly in a bag beside Tony’s chair, the hole in the side stitched up. He grinned.

Things would be okay. With the suit, he would see the falling rubble of the warehouse before it crushed him, and he’d be able to get help before the plane crashed down onto the beach. But he wasn’t just the suit. With or without it, Mr Stark would be there to clap him on the back when he saved the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope I didn't go on too much, I just wanted to make obvious what might have gone differently if Peter had been injured. This is the end of this what-if-- however, I have other ideas for different ways other Homecoming scenes could have gone. If you want to see them, they'll be written in the series, either as one-shots or multi-chapter like this one.
> 
> I also have a tumblr (it's new, like I got it today) where I'll try and post updates of how things are going. If you want to say hi or see how things are going, here it is--[My Tumblr](http:/wolf5bane.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I might continue this one with recovery/ comfort in another part, depends if there's interest in that.


End file.
